


the fear of andraste

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Universe, Developing Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Zevran and Tabris, by the encouragement of their friends, enter Bann Franderel's estate to relocate the vial filled with Andraste's tears. Faced with guards and tight hiding places, will they manage to escape?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative route to the "The Tears of Andraste"-sidequest that Slim Couldry gives you after the Landsmeet.

Before anyone has the chance to formulate their thoughts, Alistair says, ”I vote for them to go alone,” reasoning just moments later with that he thought the two rouges would make a better job to sneak into the Bann of West Hill’s estate without dragging their clumsier companions with them. “You’ll attract less guards that way,” he continues, looking into the fire as he speaks.

Even at this time, they set up a camp near Denerim despite Emon’s generous gesture of letting them stay in his estate in the city. A fleeting feeling of _Not Everything Is Over, Yet_ , the entire mismatch of characters that they are, sitting around a burning fire at night to share their warm food and even warmer stories _._ Tabris wonders, sometimes, if he’ll survive long enough to keep these moments as memories, or if they’ll always be an in-the-moment experience for him.

“And quite frankly—“ It’s Alistair speaking again, when the rest of the group is still quiet. “I’m a bit afraid to enter the estate of someone who might still alert of my presence to Anora.”

It had barely been a week since Alistair had killed the new Queen’s father in a duel, and then helped Tabris to place her on the throne. Bringing him, Tabris could agree, might not be the best idea.

Around the fire, heads nod in agreement. Leliana, who Tabris had thought would disagree, surprises him by saying, “I think he’s right.” Tending to her harp, she continues to speak before anyone has the time to interject. “I might be a trained spy, but I was made to spy from the hearth of a grand ball with music all around me, not slither from shadow to shadow.”

Zevran, sitting next to Tabris on the bed roll they sometimes shares. “Looks like it’s just the two of us. We’ll be as quiet as we can.” His eyes are reflecting the light playing off of the fire, making them shine in the night. After a moment’s silence, he snickers, and says, “For once.”

When Tabris can hear the groan that Alistair emits when he finally gets the innuendo, he laughs alongside Zevran.

“Yes, well, anyways,” Alistair says in an attempt to change the subject. “As long as you manage to get the vial—“

“As long as they get us that money so we can buy me a new battleaxe,” Oghren interrupts Alistair with, “they could fuck their way through the earl’s estate. Not like they’d be opposed to anyone hearing them going at it, _anyways_.”

* * *

Somewhere – and Tabris isn’t sure _where_ – they had set off a silent trap. Tabris knows this only because _suddenly_ , in a hallway that had been deserted when they had previously sneaked through it, guards were storming through it towards them. They had caught Tabris and Zevran in a surprise that had led the pair running away from their pursuiters; outmanned three to one, Tabris and Zevran had no chance to fight them off. In their haste to get away, the pair opened every door in sight to find a way out. It only ended in more guards being alerted of their presence, and so the mob following them grew larger and larger until the entire castle had awoken by the sounds created.

“We’re not as quiet as I thought we’d be,” Zevran yells with far more air in his lungs than Tabris could even pretend to have. “We have to find a way out.”

Tabris tries to answer. _Tries_ , because all that comes out is a weak, “ _Yea_ —“ that ends in a wheeze. Instead of trying again, he runs towards yet another door, and he prays for anyone that might listen to him that there’s no more guards on the other side of it.

Luck is on his side. The room is empty.

Zevran runs up behind him, and together they survey the room as they hear the guards closing in on them in the distance.

Breath regained enough to speak, Tabris says between sharp breaths, “We can’t hide here – they’ll find us.”

And though Tabris is a natural rouge, born with silent steps and fast wits, Zevran is a trained assassin. He’s probably been in situations like these far more times than Tabris had ever even _tried_ to sneak into a guarded castle.  

Zevran looks over the room for a second more, and then he takes Tabris’ hand in his own and drags him into the room, closing the door as they enter. Tabris stands still, unsure what to do and with a fear for the guards that renders him frozen. Zevran keeps searching.

If the guards find them now, Tabris knows they’re dead. He repeats his thoughts out loud.

“Yes, yes,” Zevran says, and though it’s most likely meant to sound like a careless dismissal of Tabris’ worry, to Tabris it just sounds like Zevran is agreeing with him.

“ _Zevran_ —“

With a secure step, Zevran walks up to the tapestry hanging on the wall opposite of the door. It’s a dark wine color, once surely a deep purple but faded with age; covering the entire wall from roof to floor, it leaves the room – a study, Tabris thinks – with a warm feeling. With a hand movement as sure as his steps, Zevran lifts part of it away from the wall, revealing not course stone but instead a old door, almost green in rot.

When he lets the tapestry go, it falls back to cover the door seamlessly as if it hadn’t even been there.

“Do you think the guards know of this?” Zevran asks as he reveals the door again. “No, wait, do you think the _earl_ knows of it?”

It’s old, and when they try to open it, it squeals with its unmaintained age. Behind it is a tunnel, leading downwards, cast in darkness.

With nothing else to do, they enter it. It’s just in time that they do so as well: a moment later, just as they close the door behind them and hope for the tapestry to fall back, the door to the study opens with a loud bang. They can both hear guards come rushing in.

A voice, light and loud, yells, “The cook’s apprentice said she saw them running in here!”

And contrasting it; another voice, heavy in both the vocal chords and the lungs, yells between every breath, “Check every corner, they can’t hide!”

Tabris dares not to move, except to reach up to Zevran’s upper arm to hold it tight. They’ve been close to death before, but never like this. Never pushed in a corner they can’t escape from. Tabris isn’t used to the situation, and it causes the dark tunnel they’re standing in to feel much smaller than it actually is. In the dark, the hand on Zevran’s arm, fingers brushing between the armor pieces to meet warm skin, lends a small comfort. It doesn’t help much to steady his breathing, but it’s enough to hold him from falling towards the floor in his fright.

Zevran moves his hands too, slowly lifting them to be placed first on Tabris’ shoulders, and then his neck, finally ending up in his hair, brushing strands backwards. With the grip he has, he holds Tabris’ head steady as he leans in, his face coming closer and closer. Finally, he stops, Zevran’s mouth right by Tabris’ ear, and he whispers barely past a quiet hum, “Big, slow breaths. Like you do when you sleep.”

Tabris tries, but the heart in his chest is beating too fast to allow him to breath in properly. He searches for Zevran’s face with his eyes, but it’s too dark to see anything. He whispers, much too loud, _“_ Zevran,” but is hushed by a hand moved from his hair to his mouth.

“Quiet for just a moment more, love. Continue to breathe. I’m here, okay?”

On the other side, one of the guards walk so close Tabris can hear their breath. His heart’s speed quickens to an almost painful speed, and he can _feel_ the need to move his body to get rid of the tingling feeling in his limbs, to get out of the situation, to _scream—_

“They’re not here, sir” one of the guards calls out finally.

The heavy voice from before answers, “Viari, take your guards and search the west wing. Lancaster, the west.”

Two, “Yes, sir!” and the study is empty.

They wait some moments more, taking care to listen for anything that might be out of place. Slowly, Tabris’ heart slows down to its normal speed, but the feeling to run is still present at the base of his back.

With long, shaking breaths, he captures Zevran hands in his own. When he whispers again – still too loudly – Zevran doesn’t stop him. “Should we move?”

“I’m quite comfortable here, I must say,” Zevran answers, but he drags Tabris after him as he produces a small enough torch to fit their needs perfectly, leading them downwards.

* * *

Shale is the first to notice them as they return. They say, “If I had a nose, I would be complaining about your foul smell.”

Tabris laughs, and he brings Zevran’s sweaty, muddy face to his own as he says, “Tell the others to leave the camp for a while,” kissing Zevran soundly on the mouth before dragging his Antivan lover towards his tent. Tabris has a feeling that the tingling in his limbs won’t disappear until morning comes.

**Author's Note:**

> did they ever get the vial??? who knows.


End file.
